


Rainbow

by Pimparoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coffee, Dogs, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Falling In Love, Friendship, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimparoo/pseuds/Pimparoo
Summary: The last time he saw him, Malfoy was puking in Grimmauld’s toilets and Harry was keeping his hair from falling in his face. Now, six years, a few traumas and a lifetime later, Malfoy is standing in front of him in the very muggle building that rooms the various support groups the residents of East London might need.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic in 9 years, and the first in English, as it's not my native language. I don't have a beta, so I hope there's just a minimum of mistakes.

“Don’t drink that, Potter. It tastes like shit.”

The part of Harry’s brain that should find it strange to be called _Potter_ in a place supposedly full of strangers is drowned out by the part of it that jumps at the familiarity of the voice, and he turns around before he can think about it. For a very short and very strange moment, Harry experiences some sort of cognitive dissonance. He drops his gaze to the plastic cup full of hot coffee in his hand.

“I -” he looks up again, and his brain struggles to connect the dots between his very muggle surroundings and the presence of Draco Malfoy, leaning his back against the table right next to Harry. “What-” Malfoy snorts and Harry looks around him, searching for any signs of hallucination. But the room didn’t change, and the people in it didn’t change either. He stares at Malfoy again. “Why?”

“Why does the coffee taste like shit?”

“Why are you here?”

The irony of the question isn’t lost on Harry. He spent the entire morning asking himself the exact same thing, and the only answer he could come up with is “Hermione told me to”. At any rate, that’s the only answer he’s comfortable with and he doesn’t want to dwell on the random thoughts that pop into his mind if he thinks about it for too long. _You’re here because you’re a fuck up._

“I’m here with a friend.” Malfoy says, and it confuses Harry even more.

“Why?”

Malfoy shakes his head and crosses his arms on his chest. They stare at each other for a few seconds, and Harry can almost feel all his coherent thoughts running in circle around his brain. If he is honest with himself, he’s a bit surprised that it took him 6 years to cross paths with the ex-Slytherin again.

The last time he saw him, Malfoy was as pale as a ghost, his black robes were too big for him and his hair fell in greasy strands in front of his empty eyes. Now, he looks healthier and happier that he ever did. His hair is cut short on the sides of his head but kept longer and tied in a tight bun on the top. His eyes are bright and full of amusement, and he has a short beard in a shade of sandy blond. But the clothes are what shock Harry the most, because Malfoy is wearing terracotta coloured jeans with a simple white shirt and black trainers.

The last time he saw him, Malfoy was puking in Grimmauld’s toilets and Harry was keeping his hair from falling in his face. Now, six years, a few traumas and a lifetime later, Malfoy is standing in front of him in the very muggle building that rooms the various support groups the residents of East London might need.

He wants to ask Malfoy what happened. He wants to ask _Do you remember the first anniversary of the Battle?,_ he wants to say _For a while I thought you were dead, and I didn’t know how to feel about that._

He says: “I’m in the grief support group.”

Malfoy raises his left eyebrow in a way that brings Harry ten years back. “Who died?”

Harry chokes on his mouthful of coffee and spits it back in the cup. “Seriously? Don’t you remember the war?” He takes the napkin Malfoy offers him and tries to ignore the way he rolls his eyes like he wants to see the back of his head.

“Recently, idiot.”

“Oh. No one.”

“Then why are you in a grief support group?”

“Because I’m fucked up”. Harry didn’t plan to say it but he does anyway. It earns him a quiet chuckle from Malfoy and Harry knows that he remembers too.

“Aren’t we all?” The blond sighs. He runs a hand through his hair and opens his mouth as if to say something else. He closes it.

Harry thinks he should probably say something, but he’s pretty sure it would be as useful as watering a garden during a rainstorm. So he says nothing and takes another sip of coffee that really tastes like shit. He copies Malfoy’s stance and leans against the table, close enough to him to acknowledge his presence but far enough to not have to do anything about it. The other man casts him a quick glance but doesn’t say anything before turning his head the other way. Another sip and Harry wonders how Malfoy knows about the coffee. He wonders how many times he came here before, and if his friend is the only one who needs help. He wonders if Malfoy remembers everything he said to Harry on the night they got drunk together, all those years ago. He wonders if Malfoy remembers saying _Listen to me, Potter. You’ll have this great life everyone dreams about. The wife who loves you and the kids who look up to you, and the friends who adore you and the whole bloody world_ _ready to kiss your feet. Me? Tomorrow, every person out there will know that I’ve been released and that I have nothing left, but it won’t stop them from wanting to take more from me. I give it a month before someone kills me, or before I kill myself. Because really, Potter, what else am I supposed to do now?_

“You didn’t kill yourself, then.”

Malfoy snorts, but he doesn’t look Harry’s way. “Not for lack of trying. Though I’m sure my fate didn’t keep you up at night.”

It did, but Harry doesn’t say it, because Malfoy probably won’t believe him. He probably won’t believe that he doesn’t have the loving wife and children, either. Or that not all of his friends adore him and that some of them aren’t even friends anymore, because when you look around you and all you see are reminders of the worst times of your life, sometimes you just have to leave. Dean left right before Seamus, it’s been 2 years since Harry saw Luna and 8 months since her last letter, and Neville is still in the background but he’s fading away, too. Ginny always sits on the edge of her chair like she’s about to jump out of it and out of their lives. Harry thinks he should add them all to the list of people he’s still grieving.

On the other side of the room, next to a water cooler that’s probably incredibly lukewarm, a girl with brown skin and short dreads waves her hand in their direction. He almost waves back when he sees Malfoy straightening himself, a smile on his face. He turns to Harry and his smile doesn’t completely disappear.

“Well, Potter, it’s been fun. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He does a weird, lazy military salute and walks over to the girl before Harry can react.

He watches them hug each other tightly as though meeting for the first time after a few years apart, even though they clearly came here together. He watches their smiles, tired but genuine, as they talk rapidly. He watches as Malfoy vaguely gesture in his direction and as the girl looks over his shoulder to meet Harry’s eyes. She says something that makes Malfoy turn to look at him, too, and he shrugs. He watches them as they join the other people sitting in the circle of chairs, getting ready to start the session.

He watches them with a growing feeling of something he can’t quite put his finger on, but it’s soothing and it hurts all over at the same time. He can’t do it, he decides. He can’t go there and sit with them and sympathise with them and share with them. Not today, not when Draco Malfoy is here and seeing him stirred up things in Harry he’s not ready to face.

He crosses the room and he can feel the blond’s eyes on him, watching him and every steps he takes toward the door, and he can almost hear him calling him a coward. He doesn’t care. He’s going home, and he’ll tell Hermione that he’s not ready.

****

When Harry opens the door to the flat he shares with Hermione, his friend is laying on the rug, her toe nails being painted by Lavender. They don’t look up and for a second Harry isn’t sure they heard him coming, but Hermione says: “You’re home early.”

Harry sighs, takes off his shoes without untying the laces and crosses the room to sit on the couch, his knees on the same level as Lavender’s head. He sinks into the cushions and closes his eyes, trying to decide if the last hour really happened or if it was all in his head. The latter wouldn’t surprise him, he muses. It wouldn’t be the first time his brain fucks with him.

“How did it go?” Lavender asks, and Harry opens his eyes to see his friends watching him. Lavender reseals the nail polish bottle and Hermione sits up.

“It didn’t go. I didn’t go.” He catches Hermione’s disappointed frown. “Well, I did go. I just didn’t stay for the whole sharing our feelings thingy.”

“I think the point of going is the whole sharing your feelings thingy.” Lavender says that like she’s saying they need to buy milk. Like it’s so easy he shouldn’t have to think about it.

“I’m not ready.”

“Harry” Hermione sighs. “I thought you were. You told me so, you told _us_ you wanted to get help and move on. Ron won’t be happy with you.”

Harry scoffs. “Ron is never happy with me.” The fact that it’s true doesn’t make it hurt less. He doesn’t know exactly when he started to fuck things up with Ron. When Harry quit the Aurors after only two weeks? When Ginny broke up with him? When Ron broke up with Hermione and Harry became her roommate? Some parts of Harry think that it all started to get warped and twisted that night in the Forest when Ron left them, but he can’t say that aloud, not when the three of them decided to pretend it never happened. But Ron is never happy with Harry. He’s not one of the friends who left, Ron is always here. But sometimes Harry thinks it’s just because it’s the way things used to be. Harry, Ron and Hermione against the rest of the world; and why change that? Sometimes it seems like their friendship is just a force of habit, for Ron.

“I’ll go back next week, for real this time. I just couldn’t do it today.”

“Why not?”

“Draco Malfoy was here.”

Lavender and Hermione exchange a look full of something Harry can’t decipher. Hermione takes her pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, lights one up and says “Huh”.

“Huh? That’s it?”

“What are we supposed to say, Harry?” Lavender asks gently.

“I don’t know. Show some surprise, or something. Draco Malfoy in muggle London in a mental health support group is not huh, it’s what the fuck.”

“You need a mental health support group, why shouldn’t he need one?”

“I don’t know, Hermione! It’s fucking weird.” He sighs, closes his eyes. “I thought he was dead.”

“Why would you think that?”

Because he told me he wanted to die, Harry wants to say. Because he told me he wasn’t going anywhere, and then he disappeared. He fell off the face of the world, and I looked for him for far too long and I never found him. And I can’t believe he’s been right there, the whole time, so close and out of reach.

He says: “I’ll go back next week.”

“Because you need help or because you think Malfoy’s going to be there too?”

Harry wishes he could lie to Hermione. “Both”.

He doesn’t say he needs to know what Malfoy has been up to more than he needs help. Because falling into his old obsessions again is definitely something he needs help with, and it scares him how much he wants to fall back.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just needed this chapter to explain Harry and Draco's previous "history" without being redundant in future chapters. Draco is back in the next one :)

Harry wakes up on Monday morning with a pounding headache and the disturbing certitude that if someone asked him what he did the last four days, he couldn’t answer them. He doesn’t need to drink to lose entire days of his life, not anymore. There was a time, right after the end of the war, when he and Ron spent their days drinking and recovering enough to drink some more. Hermione cried a lot, back then. She started smoking just to have something to do with her hands, and maybe because she didn’t want to be the only one without destructive coping mechanisms.

Harry doesn’t really drink anymore. He doesn’t do much at all anymore, and that’s probably why it’s so easy to waste and forget his days. He thinks he watched the telly with Hermione on Thursday and Friday, and he slept through Saturday and Sunday. He always has a headache when he sleeps too much, and he often wonders if sleeping 48 hours straight is his way of compensating for spending an entire year sleeping 3 hours a night, 7 years ago. Not for the first time, the little voice in his head that sounds like Dumbledore tells him _You shouldn’t be this damaged after almost a decade._ Not for the first time, Harry ignores it.

He finally gathers enough strength to leave his bed, and makes his way to the kitchen, still half asleep. Hermione already left for work but Lavender is here, sitting on the counter next to the sink and talking on the phone. He thinks that, for the amount of time she spends here, Lavender should probably move in with them. He told her, once, that they could find a bigger flat so she could have her own room, instead of sleeping on their couch three nights a week. She just laughed and said _What’s the point of having a safety net if you’re going to live with them?_ Harry knows she’s just as damaged as them, she’s just better at pretending. The sane ones left them a long time ago, except for Ron, but Ron is always the exception to the rule.

“Morning sunshine” he says. She smiles and mouths “coffee is ready” before returning to her conversation. Harry tries not to listen but he hears the giggles and the soft words, and he wonders how long she’s going to stay with this boyfriend, this time. There’s a chart on the fridge with the names of her past boyfriends and the length of the relationship, a hideous thing covered in glitter and heart shaped stickers. Hermione made it one night after too many drinks, when Lavender decided Joel was The One. Joel lasted two months.

Lavender finally hangs up the phone just as Harry offers her a cup of coffee and sits down at the table with his own. She stays on the counter, her legs balancing from left to right like a strange pendulum. Harry takes a sip of his coffee and it doesn’t taste like shit, but it still makes him think about Malfoy.

“He told me the coffee wasn’t good. How many times do you think he went there, to know that the coffee isn’t good?”

“Are we back to Malfoy, now?” Harry nods and Lavender sighs, but she finally comes to sit next to him. She puts her hand on his and squeezes.

“Why do you care so much, Harry?”

He shrugs. He always cares too much, and not just about Malfoy. Not just about the right things, at least that’s what Ginny told him when she ended everything with him.

“We spent a few days together, you know.” He laughs, but it’s bitter and it hurts. “Well no, you wouldn’t know. I never told anyone.”

“Why?”

“Why we spent a few days together or why I never told anyone?”

Lavender shrugs and takes a cigarette from a forgotten pack next to a pile of newspapers. “Both, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know” He says, but he still hands her the lighter. Lavender smiles and tells him to not change the subject, so Harry tells her everything.

 

He tells her about the First Anniversary of the Battle, about the big ceremony at the Ministry and how he felt obligated to go even though he didn’t want to. He and Ron started drinking early that day, and even Hermione stopped crying long enough to do shots with them at 10 in the morning. They took a Sobering Potion when it became obvious that they couldn’t function with this much alcohol in their system, but by the time they arrived at the Ministry, Harry still felt worse than he ever did. And it wasn’t all due to the tequila. He let people in ceremonial robes drag him to the stage and he made his speech. He let people smile and cheer and cry in his arms, and he let the Minister give him a medal, and he let everyone believe that everything was okay. But he just wanted to puke and disappear, so when the speeches were over and people were busy eating and socializing, he left the Atrium. He went down a shady set of corridors and an even shadier staircase. He didn’t know where he was going and he started to think that he lost himself too much in the maze of the Ministry when a door opened just before him, and Draco Malfoy was there.

It felt like a punch in the guts. The year before, Harry spent his summer at various trials. He talked in favour of Narcissa and Draco. He asked for mercy. Narcissa got mercy, but Draco did not. He was sent to Azkaban and nobody would tell Harry for _how long_ he’d be there. By the looks of Malfoy, he spent the better part of the year behind bars. His skin was a sickly grey, and his hair fell in greasy strands just above his shoulders. The black robes he was wearing made him look like Harry did when he wore Dudley’s clothes. He had broken nails and his hands were covered in a mix of dust and blood. The shadows under his eyes extended to the middle of his emaciated cheeks. Harry shivered when they locked eyes. Malfoy’s seemed dead. Behind the shadow of the boy Harry used to know, a wizard in Auror robes poked his head in the corridor. “You’ve just been released, Malfoy. Get out of here before anyone changes their mind!”.

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” Malfoy said to the Auror, but he was still staring at Harry.

And Harry still can’t explain why he did it, but he told him: “Come with me. At least until you can figure things out.”

And Malfoy came. Harry brought him to Grimmauld Square, instead of the little house he shared with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Luna. He never went to Grimmauld anymore, and the house was dusty and smelled like despair. It was perfect for the occasion. When they got there, Malfoy took a shower and put on some old clothes that had belonged to Sirius. Harry wanted to cry. He told Malfoy: “I think there’s some old bottles in the cellar, if you want to drink.”

Malfoy said: “Knowing the Black family, the cellar is probably full of priceless alcohol. I don’t think it’s appropriate to drink them after getting out of jail.” But he still took the bottle of 42 years old whisky Harry gave him.

On the first night, they drank in silence. The next day, they ate in silence and drank some more, and Malfoy said _Thank you_ to Harry. Harry still doesn’t know what he was thanking him for, but he didn’t say anything back.

On the second night, they fought for a total of 5 minutes before declaring that they were both too tired to fight. So they talked instead. They talked about the war and their roles in it. They talked about the people they lost because of each other, and the ones they lost because of themselves. They talked about their childhoods, Harry with the Dursleys and his cupboard and Malfoy with his loving but crazy parents.

The next day, they talked about each other. Malfoy told Harry that he hated him since that first day, when he refused to take his hand. He told Harry that it was easy to hate him because he was so loveable it made him sick. He said that hating Harry was a part of him just as much as being a Malfoy was. _But I don’t hate you anymore, Potter. Why can’t I hate you anymore?_. He sounded so broken and little that Harry didn’t say anything. He took his hand and they fell asleep on the dusty couch in the drawing room where Harry and the Weasleys chased the doxies a lifetime ago.

On the third night, they drank far too much, because Malfoy finally seemed to realize that everything was over and Harry couldn’t find the words to help him cope. This was the night when Malfoy told him that he wanted to die. He told him that Harry was going to have a perfect life and that he deserved it. He told him that he, Malfoy, was probably going to get murdered or kill himself, and that he deserved it. That he wanted it and was waiting for it.

The next day, Harry told Malfoy that he had always been part of Harry’s life in a way or another, since that first day at Hogwarts. He talked about the paper crane with the drawing of Harry and Dementors Malfoy sent him that one time in Third Year, about that first detention in the Forbidden Forest, about that time when Harry and Ron used Polyjuice to trick Malfoy into admitting he was the Slytherin Heir, about that day in the bathroom when Harry almost killed him. He told Malfoy that it didn’t feel right not having him in his life, even if it was to make it miserable.

“If I wanted you to die, I wouldn’t have saved you in the Room. I still don’t want you to die.” Malfoy was holding his hand and Harry fell asleep right after hearing “I’m not going anywhere, Potter.”

On the fourth night, when Harry woke up, Malfoy wasn’t there anymore.

 

“Oh”. Lavender says. Harry starts, because even if he was talking to her, he forgot she was here. It makes him feel just a bit more pathetic, to realize that Malfoy still makes him forget about the rest of the world.

“Yeah. I guess that’s why I care so much. Why would he leave after telling me he wasn’t going to?”

“I don’t know, Harry. But if he decided to leave that night, maybe you should do what he wants and leave him alone, now.”

He knows that his friends are usually the voice of reason, and the only reason why he doesn’t do any stupid thing he wants to do. He knows he can’t function properly without them, but he also knows that Draco Malfoy had always been the stick in the wheels of his life.

“He was the one who talked to me, last week. I didn’t even know he was here. If he didn’t want me to see him, he could have left. Why did he approach me, then?”

“Huh” Lavender says. “I guess he’s the only one who knows.”

And to Harry, it sounds a bit too much like his friend is giving him her blessings to go down the rabbit hole of his baleful fixation. Again.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably warn you that the end of this chapter can be triggering for some. It talks about grieving and the pain that comes with it, and the way Ellie describes it is exactly how I used to feel, so... yeah. Take care.

On his way to the support group meeting the next Wednesday, Harry stops at a coffee shop. He buys himself a cappuccino and adds too much sugar, because he figures that if he’s going to indulge, he might as well be disgusting about it. He decides that the end of May weather is a good excuse to walk instead of Apparating, and he tries to ignore the voice telling him that he’s as nervous as before a first date. Not that Harry would know what it feels to go on a first date, because he doesn’t date. He figures that if he couldn’t keep Ginny, who was in love with him since she was 12, he can’t keep anyone. And he doesn’t really mind, because he wouldn’t want to impose his _fuckupery_ , as Ron calls it, on anyone.

The building is only a 15 minutes walk from his flat, but Harry takes side streets he never even looked at before, and it takes him 45 minutes to arrive. He is still early.

When he walks into the room, he pretends to not be looking for Malfoy. He also pretends to not be disappointed when he doesn’t see him. Unlike last time, Harry doesn’t go straight for the table with the disgusting coffee and the probably not-so-fresh scones. He takes a good look at the room, because if he has to spend his afternoon here every Wednesday until he feels better or he dies, whichever comes first, he might as well start to pay attention now.

The room is huge. Not as much as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but definitely bigger than his entire flat, balcony included. The walls are painted an odd shade of salmon that gives it a sad atmosphere, but Harry thinks it’s fitting. Here and there, old cheer up posters with kitten dangling from branches and kids smiling up at balloons aren’t doing anything to give more cheerful vibes. On the wall farthest from the door, Harry can see a mosaic of pictures. When he comes closer, he sees the room in some of them, with the circle of chairs filled with smiling faces and waving hands. Malfoy is in 6 of the pictures, and Harry wonders again how long ago he started to come here. In two of them, he’s standing with a dozen persons, and his smile paints sadness all over his face. In three of them, he’s sitting in different places: grey stairs, a room that looks like a bar and a bench in a park. In all of them, he has his arms around the shoulders of the girl from last time and another man, taller than the other two, with a green mohawk and tattooed arms. In the last picture, Malfoy is alone on the stage that Harry saw on the other side of the room. He’s smiling brightly and proudly showing off the golden coin in his left hand. Harry wants to take the picture off the wall to see what’s written on the coin but he hears footsteps behind him just as he raises his arm, so he ends up sort of caressing the picture with his fingertips instead. The person behind him chuckles and Harry wants the earth to swallow him.

“You’re Harry Potter, right?”

Harry’s heart freezes in his chest at the unknown voice and he turns around quickly, ready to flee if he has to face another witch asking for his autograph. But he comes face to face with Malfoy’s friend, watching him with a bit of curiosity and a sparkle of amusement in her hazel eyes. He quickly realizes that his ex-schoolmate probably told her his name last week, and he wonders how Malfoy’s voice sounded when he said “Harry Potter” after all these years. He scratches his throat and lets out a feeble “Yeah”.

“I’m Ellie” Harry shakes the hand she offers him and a tiny smile dances on her features. “Draco told me all about you.”

Harry is curious about what “all” encompasses, but he’s not about to ask Ellie if she knows about the time he tried to kill her friend, or the time he saved his life, or every aspect of their fucked up relationship.

“Oh. Good stuff, I hope.” His voice sounds sceptical even to his own ears. Ellie lets out a little laugh that he’s not sure how to interpret.

“Well, you know Draco. He can’t help being a bit of a wanker even when he says something nice.” Harry doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t really know Draco, or that he never heard him say something nice. He nods and tries not to torture himself with what Malfoy had to say about him.

He wants to ask every little question he has about Malfoy. He wants to ask how he became friends with muggles with short dreads and green hair and tattoos and jeans cut opened at the knees, but he’s certain she won’t answer any of that.

“How long have you known him?” He asks instead, because he figures that’s a normal question to ask the friend of an old… whatever Malfoy is to Harry.

“Oh, about five years now. We met here, actually.” She says it like it explains everything, but it just puts more questions in Harry’s head. Why did Malfoy come here and why is he still here five years later?

He opens his mouth to say something else, anything, because he doesn’t want to lose this tiny connection he has to all the answers he wants, but Ellie interrupts him.

“Speaking of the Devil” She says with a smile, her eyes fixed on something over Harry’s shoulder.

There’s a discreet stop in Malfoy steps as Harry turns to look at him, like his body is telling him he shouldn’t come closer. But the blond soldiers on and when he finally comes to a stop next to them, his face is the absolute definition of neutral. Harry doesn’t know how he does it, because his own face is probably either very white or very red, he’s not sure. Malfoy is wearing a white button up shirt, a bit too large for him, with the sleeves rolled up at his elbows. He bends over a little and quickly kisses his friend’s cheek, not looking at Harry.

“’Ello, Ellie” He says it so quickly and fluidly that it sounds a bit like aioli, and Harry would find it amusing if he could stop staring at the Dark Mark on the blond’s forearm. It’s as black and disgusting as it probably was when he first got it, and Harry is not sure if he wants to attack or retch. He settles for staring and apparently, that makes Malfoy want to attack.

“See something you like, Potter?” His chin is held up and there’s a bit of defiance in his eyes, but Harry can still see the fear behind.

He shouldn’t be surprised, really. He saw it that night on the Astronomy Tower, he saw it during Malfoy’s trial and he saw it six years ago when Malfoy was puking and crying on his bathroom floor. He saw it very closely when Malfoy forced him to look at it, holding his arm inches from Harry’s face and saying _This is more effective than a signature on my death certificate._

But he shouldn’t see it _here_ and _now,_ not in his room that has apparently been a part of Malfoy’s life since he disappeared, not in front of his smiling muggle friend who doesn’t need to say that she loves Malfoy for her affection to show. The Mark feels dirtier and scarier now than it did during the War, and Harry wants to wash himself with bleach after just looking at it. He wonders how Malfoy can live with it, and if it’s part of the reason why he needed a support group in the first place. There’s a childish and petty part of Harry’s brain that wants to think Malfoy is still an inconsiderate bastard who doesn’t regret anything, because why else would he let people see the Mark? But there’s also a more understanding part of him that tells him Malfoy is braver than him, because at least _he_ doesn’t hide his fuck ups from himself or the world.

“I like your shoes.” He says, and it’s not a total lie. At least shoes are neutral and safe.

Malfoy looks down to his black trainers clad feet, and up at Harry. He lets out a little breathy laugh and shakes his head slowly, exasperation fighting something like fondness in his eyes. Harry shrugs.

“Sorry to interrupt this little fashionista moment, but the session is about to start, lads.”

Malfoy offers him a cheeky smile. “You’re joining us this time, Potter?”

Harry resists the urge to run away as fast as possible, and he follows Ellie when she guides them towards the circle, where half the chairs are already occupied. He sits between an older man with leathery skin and a woman who looks so exhausted it’s hard to say if she’s 20 or 40. Ellie takes the seat opposite him and Malfoy takes the one next to her. If he turns his head to the left, Harry can pretend the blond isn’t here.

“So,” Every head turns towards the man sitting a few chairs down on his right. He has a gentle smile and eyes that seem to have seen awful things, and Harry doesn’t know if his resemblance with Remus is a comfort or not. “First, I see we have a new face here today.” He inclines his head in Harry’s direction with a smile. “Hi, my name is Oscar, I’m the counsellor for the grief support group. I also help with other groups here in this building, so if you need help with something else and don’t know how to get it, you can come and see me, alright? What is your name?”

“I, hum, I’m Harry”

There’s a harmony of voices as every person in the circle says “Hello, Harry”. Malfoy only mouths the words, but he’s looking straight into Harry’s eyes, and it sends shivers down his spine.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. Would you like to share with us what brings you here today?”

“I..” Harry chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure if you want to share, or you’re not sure why you’re here?”

Harry can feel every pair of eyes on him, and he wishes he could disappear inside himself. He always hated having the attention on him, and he always hated discussing his weaknesses. The combination of both is almost too overwhelming and he looks for Malfoy’s eyes, searching for a bit of familiarity and something to anchor him. When he finds it, Malfoy’s gaze in unwavering and the corners of his mouth lift up in a secret smile. He nods his head once, slowly, as if to say “You got this”. There’s something about Malfoy smiling at him and encouraging him that grounds Harry in a way he should find disturbing, but he’s not above taking comfort where he finds it and he latches onto it like a lost child.

“Both, honestly” He says, without taking his eyes off Malfoy. The blond inclines his head like he’s trying to resolve a mystery and looks away.

“It’s okay, Harry”, Oscar’s smile is warm and understanding. “No one is going to push you, here. If you want to come every week and just listen until you feel ready to share, or until you can put words on what you’re experiencing, you’re welcome to do it. No one is going to judge you or reject you. This is a safe place.”

Harry breathes out a shaky “Thank you”. He was afraid people would push him to share and that he wouldn’t be welcome here if he didn’t at least say a few words here and then, and relief washes over him. He can do it. He can come and see that people aren’t judged for what they say, that nobody look at them with pity or anger; and maybe one day he’ll be able to do the same.

“Now, I hope you guys don’t mind,” Oscar continues, “but today I would like to hear Ellie. I’m sure talking with you can be some sort of comfort, given the circumstances.” Several people nods in agreement. “If you’re up for it, Ellie?”

Harry watches as her dark skin becomes a little paler and her eyes fill with tears. Malfoy puts his arm around her shoulder, whispers something in her ear and kisses her temple. Ellie nods rapidly and exhales slowly, just like Harry used to do to give himself the courage he couldn’t muster.

“Sometimes… Sometimes I think to myself _Hey, it’s not so hard, after all._ I wake up, I take a shower, I get dressed, and I think that I can do it. It comes...” She stops herself to wipe a tear and Malfoy takes her hand. “It comes like waves. The pain, I mean. Like a tsunami. I’m home, playing with the dogs or doing something with Draco, I’m talking or laughing and just for a moment, a tiny little second, I forget that Jeff isn’t here anymore. And then I remember, and it’s like this big, scary, black wave that just… whooosh… takes it all away. And I feel like I’m drowning, really, like really drowning. Mentally and physically. I feel like I might be slowly dying in these moments, like I’m never going to be able to smile anymore, or do anything but cry and scream for the rest of my life. And then the wave stops, and there’s nothing left but ruins everywhere and I still have to rebuild everything and hope that the next wave won’t destroy it again. That it will be more gentle, less excruciating. And then I feel fucking selfish, because I’m not the only one who lost Jeff. I mean, some of you knew him, he helped you and talked to you and I know he was important to you, too. And I know Draco lost his best friend and he never told me to shut up about it, he never came into my room in the middle of the night because he didn’t want to be alone, he’s always so supportive of me and I know he’s going through hell too. And, Jesus fucking Christ, Jeff’s mum! She should be the one talking today, telling you how she can’t function without him, not me. She’s entitled to suffering, and I just don’t know if I am, too.”

It takes more self control than he even knew he had for Harry to not fall apart. Every one of Ellie’s words resonates in him and his head is pounding. He didn’t know he could feel so shamelessly sad for someone he barely knows, but he feels closer to Ellie than he felt closer to anyone in the past 7 years. It’s the first time in his life that someone can put words on a grief that isn’t his and still makes it feel like they’re talking about him.

Oscar’s voice is gentle and full of unshed tears when he speaks again. “Draco, would you like to say something?”

But apparently the pain is too much for him, too. And Harry thought he could pretend he was okay after listening to Ellie’s distress, but the sight of Draco Malfoy with tears in his eyes and a throat so tight he can’t even talk is enough to undo him. He watches as Malfoy shakes his head to say no, hugs Ellie and stands up. He puts a hand through his hair and croaks out “I’m sorry” to Oscar.

And Harry doesn’t really have a choice, does he? He has to follow him when Malfoy leaves the room. He doesn’t even think about it, or about how it might look, or about how maybe Malfoy wants to be alone right now. He just stands up and ignores the looks everyone give him when his chair scrapes the floor. He _has_ to follow Malfoy.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the time it took me to update, apparently my son decided that I'm not allowed to have enough free time to write! Things should get better now :)

It doesn’t take Harry very long to find Malfoy, leaning against the wall right next to the building’s door. He watches him, an unlit cigarette between his lips, trying to light it up with shaking hands and a visibly non-working lighter. Without a word, Harry offers him the one he always carry in his pocket. Malfoy takes it without looking at him, and a murmured “Thanks” escapes his lips when he exhales the cigarette’s smoke. He gives Harry his lighter back and shakes his pack of cigarettes.

“You want one?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Why do you have a lighter then?”

Harry shrugs but Malfoy still isn’t looking at him. “Hermione loses hers all the time.”

“Harry Potter, always the Saviour in any situation.”

 Harry thinks Malfoy meant to inject more venom in his words, but he just sounds tired. He doesn’t answer and instead leans on the wall beside him, because he feels a bit creepy watching him smoke from less than a meter away. They stay silent for what feels like something between two minutes and an eternity, and when Malfoy finishes his cigarette and takes another one, Harry offers him the lighter again. “You can keep it.”

Malfoy nods, pockets the lighter, and lets the back of his head hit the wall when he looks up to the sky. Bits of dry cement fall into his hair but he doesn’t seem to notice, and Harry fights the urge to run his hand through it to shake them off.

 “Jeff was her fiancé.”

Harry figured it was something like that, but he still says “Oh.”

“She’s pregnant.”

His heart breaks a little bit more for Ellie, and his “Fuck” doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

“Yeah, fuck”, Malfoy says with a sad little smile that seems to contain all the pain in the world. He finally turns to look at Harry, his head tilted like a curious dog. “Why are you here, Potter?”

And he doesn’t really have an answer to that. He stares at the grey flakes in the blond’s hair and thinks about all the reasons he doesn’t want to voice. The Mind Healer he went to see right after the War told him that he should always be honest, always share the important thoughts. But somehow he’s not sure Malfoy would be happy to hear that Harry just isn’t capable of walking away from him. Or that Harry’s unhealthy curiosity about him never faltered, even after all these years.

 “I don’t know.”

“Hm”

“Do you want me to leave?”

 Malfoy just looks at him, an unreadable expression dancing across his features. He stares so intensely that Harry almost feels like he can see right through him, all the way to the core of his soul. Finally, just as Harry is starting to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Malfoy looks away and sighs.

 “No.”

 Harry offers him a tight smile to which he doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t care. He’s content just staying here, in a silence that should be uncomfortable and full of unsaid things but isn’t. There’s an unexpected easiness in standing side by side with his ex-nemesis and watching him smoke cigarette after cigarette like he might die if he doesn’t. He wonders if this isn’t the epitome of tranquillity: sharing Draco Malfoy’s space and silence, with his Dark Mark on full display and his tobacco stained fingertips. It feels a bit like being granted entry in a secret society; and a lot like watching a rainbow being formed: you can try to explain, but you can’t fully understand what it’s like unless you’ve experienced it. Something tells Harry that the list of people who’ve really experienced Draco Malfoy isn’t a long one, and he shouldn’t be so satisfied to be one of them. He doesn’t even try to pretend that his thoughts on his ex-schoolmate aren’t leaning closer and closer to neurosis; it’s just not in the Top 5 of the things that are wrong with him. Malfoy is the first one to break the silence.

 “Do you remember 6th Year?”

“Vaguely, yeah.” Harry can’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but the blond just rolls his eyes like he didn’t expect any better from a stupid Gryffindor anyway.

“I feel a bit like I did back then, right now.”

“You mean like uselessly putting innocent people in danger just for the chance to kill an old man because a racist maniac told you to?”

 It’s a bit surprising for Harry to realize that, despite the strange four days they spent together and the six years they didn’t, being an arsehole to Malfoy still comes naturally. He figures there’s no point in trying to spare the blond’s feelings now when they spent the better part of their lives trying to hurt each other just because they could. That, and the thought that Malfoy wouldn’t take kindly to being coddled in any circumstances, all the more by his former enemy, keeps the guilt at bay.

 Malfoy huffs with something that could be self derision. “Unexpectedly harsh, Potter, but fair. Besides, I thought we determined that my biggest teenage flaw was my cowardice.”

Harry nods. “Indeed, we did.”

“Anyway,” Malfoy says before lighting the last cigarette in his pack, “I was talking more about feeling like I’m being sliced open when I’m already at the lowest point in my life.”

 Harry winces but he can’t say anything, not when he was the first to go down the whole remember-how-awful-we-were path. He deserves it, and he doesn’t really mind.

 He says: “You recovered, eventually. Not only from the slicing, but also from being at the lowest point possible. It probably means you can do it again.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Harry frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Malfoy sighs. “You don’t know what it was like, finding a way to live after all the shit that happened. After Azkaban. You have no idea how fucking excruciatingly difficult it was to get back on my feet.”

Harry doesn’t say that he kind of knows because he’s not certain he’s back on his feet yet. “Well that’s a bit your fault that I don’t know what you went through, isn’t it? I would’ve known, if you didn’t disappear in the night like a common thief.”

“Oh yes, kick a man while he’s on the ground, why don’t you, Potter? Do you really think that right now is the time to re-open old wounds?”

“I don’t know if it’s a wound for you, you know. Besides, grieving is probably the best occasion to have open hearted conversations.”

Malfoy shakes his head in disbelief. “Has anyone ever told you that you suffer from a frightening lack of empathy?”

“All the time.” Harry shrugs. “And I didn’t know you, of all people, were an expert on empathy.”

To Harry’s complete surprise, Malfoy laughs. A brief but real laugh, with bright white teeth and shiny eyes. “You’re a prick. But believe it or not, I actually care about Ellie. I care a whole fucking lot about her. And I cared a whole fucking lot about Jeff, too. I just don’t know if caring is going to be enough, this time.”

 Harry doesn’t want to think about how weird their interactions are. There’s the meanness that defines them, but it’s not hateful. It’s almost factual, like they both know they’re being arseholes but they appreciate it. And there’s also the way it seems stupidly easy to just talk, sincerely. Just say whatever comes to mind because, somehow, they know the other won’t take offence and will still be there to keep talking. It’s the strangest form of communication Harry has ever taken part of, and it doesn’t surprise him that it would happen with Malfoy.

 “Look, Malfoy, caring probably won’t make everything okay again, but it certainly will help. Ellie needs to know she still has you.”

“How? How would it help?” Malfoy’s voice is so desperate Harry wishes he could have the answers to questions he never stopped asking himself. “Jeff was my best friend, who just so happened to want to marry my other best friend. What am I supposed to tell her? Go ahead, Ellie, and grieve while you’re carrying your dead fiancé’s baby, and then give birth to it and raise it, and I’m sure none of it will be traumatic at all!?”

“Obviously not in these words. But the idea’s here.”

“Well thank fuck the idea’s here, Potter, because that helps tremendously!”

Harry is starting to lose patience and yet, the idea of just walking away and going back to his life never crosses his mind. “I’ve never been in this position before, what do you want me to say?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Just,” Malfoy puts his head in his hands and scrubs downwards, and it makes him look a bit like Munch’s painting The Scream. “I don’t know.”

“Okay”

 Before Harry can say anything else, the door next to them opens up and Ellie appears, looking at them with badly concealed curiosity. Malfoy spares a quick glance for Harry before pushing himself off the wall and marching straight to Ellie, blocking her in a tight embrace. He kisses her hair with a tenderness that makes Harry look away, uncomfortable at witnessing something so intimate. Ellie pushes her friend back gently and forces a genuine smile. She looks at him, then over his shoulder to Harry, and back at Malfoy.

“Everything okay here, boys?”

Harry nods with a reassuring smile. Malfoy turns to look at him before saying “Just peachy.” He looks back at Ellie. “Are you okay?”

“Just peachy” she mimics her friend’s posh accent. “I need something to change my mind, though. How do you feel about going to the pub?”

Malfoy frowns but amusement is painted clearly in his eyes. “You can’t drink, you know.”

“Yes, Dad, I know. I’m not that daft.” She rolls her eyes and offers Harry a smile. “You’re coming with us?”

He almost immediately says yes. Almost. But then he remembers that he’s not actually Malfoy’s friend and that he doesn’t actually know Ellie, and how weird would it be if he just decided to intrude on their night out? Malfoy looks at him expectantly but nothing in his expression betrays whether he wants Harry to come or not. Harry thinks it’s a good thing that the blond isn’t openly repulsed by the idea of going to the pub with him, but he can’t take indifference for consent. Especially not with Malfoy.

“Er, thanks, but I can’t tonight.”, he lies. “Next time, maybe?”

“Next time it is, then”, Malfoy says, his eyes locked in Harry’s. It sounds a bit like a challenge and Gryffindors never back down from a challenge, no matter how long ago they stopped being brave. He nods, because he can’t say _I’m not afraid of you anymore_ , not in front of the dark skinned girl who wouldn’t understand.

They must be looking at each other for far too long, because when Ellie scratches her throat and says “Well”, they both jump, surprised to hear another voice. Harry’s pretty sure his face turned a light shade of red, and he blushes even harder when he suddenly remembers that Ellie caught him touching her friend’s picture like a deranged stalker. Malfoy doesn’t seem to notice his embarrassment. He does the same sloppy military salute he did the week before and barely lets Ellie say goodbye to Harry before taking her arm and striding down the street.

Before disappearing behind the corner, he turns to look one last time and catches Harry’s eyes on him. He lifts an eyebrow, smiles faintly, and he’s gone. Harry Disapparates on the spot, feeling like he can breathe a bit easier than he did this morning.

 


	5. Five

When Harry finally emerges from his bedroom the next Wednesday, it’s to find a strange man sitting on his couch, frowning down at one of Hermione’s old papers from her Social Studies class. He stays there, just behind the bookshelf that separates the living room from the rest of the flat, until he decides that no burglar in their right mind would stop in the act just to read a 20 pages essay. He clears his throat before stepping into view anyway, just in case. The stranger jumps but doesn’t seem overly bothered at being found in someone else’s home.

“I didn’t understand a single word”, he says, waving the paper in front of him.

“Ah”, Harry says, because he can’t think of anything else.

“It’s really weird how you can speak a language and still not understand it, sometimes.”

“Ah”, Harry says, again. “Er, no offense but… Who are you?”

“None taken!”, the man answers with a joviality that reminds Harry a bit of Slughorn. But the man in front of him is a lot younger and a bit less slimy, so when he stands up from the couch and offers his hand, Harry shakes it. “I’m Phil, and you must be Barry!”

“It’s Harry, actually. How – who – What are you doing here, exactly?”

“Oh!” Phil laughs. “Sorry, Barry -”

“Harry”

“Yes, sorry. I was on a date with Lavy, last night. She said I could sleep here, I hope you don’t mind, Barry.”

“Harry. Er, where’s Lavy?” He tries not to grimace when he calls Lavender by that horrible nickname, but he’s pretty sure he fails.

“She’s in the shower”, Phil says, going back to his place on the couch and the incomprehensible essay.

Harry looks behind him down the corridor, to the bathroom’s door wide open and the room obviously empty. He looks back to Phil, but he seems to have forgotten his existence already. Sighing, he turns around and knocks on the only closed door, Hermione’s bedroom. Lavender opens the door with barely enough space to let Harry in and shuts it quickly behind him.

“Is he still here?” she asks, biting down her lower lip.

Harry nods. “Apparently my name’s Barry, now.”

“Ugh. I said I was going to take a shower 2 hours ago, I thought he would leave eventually.”

“He’s challenging his reading skills, seems like a determined fella.”

Lavender laughs quietly. “Shut up, _Barry_. Can you make him leave?” she pleads, eyes and voice full of hope. “I have to go, but I literally can’t hear his voice again without blowing my head off.”

“Sure”, Harry shrugs. It’s not the first time Lavender asked him to get rid of one of her dates, and he doesn’t mind. What he minds, though, is that Lavender keeps dating blokes who obviously aren’t good for her. “But maybe next time, try to go on a date with someone you actually like.”

“He seemed nice!”

“ _Lavy_ , nice is like the bare minimum someone can be. You deserve more than nice.”

Lavender sighs and hugs him, her head tucked in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. “I’m not so sure. Besides, you can give me lessons about what I deserve when you actually take a step towards moving on and getting better. Until then, we’re both hopeless fuckers and it’s our job to look after each other.”

“I’d look after you even if you weren’t a hopeless fucker, Lav.”

“Right back at ya, sunshine.” She lifts her head and smiles at him. “So go get him out and then go to your meeting, and actually talk this time. I’ll know if you don’t.”

Harry snorts. “How would you know?”

“A lady never reveals her secrets, Harry James Potter.”

Harry laughs and hugs his friend again, before going back to the living room and lying to Phil about how Lavender feels sick. When he finally gets him to leave, after a few confused _But Barry_ s, he barely has time to shower before he has to leave for the group meeting.

 

**

He Apparates directly in the alley next to the building. When he turns the corner, he almost runs straight into Malfoy, smoking on the sidewalk.

“I’m glad to see that your glasses are still working perfectly, Potter”, Malfoy says after stepping back to avoid a collision.

“Shut up”, he answers, but he can’t help smiling a little bit. He looks around. “Where’s Ellie?”

“Doctor’s appointment”, Malfoy says, throwing his cigarette’s butt on the ground and stepping on it. Harry quickly Vanishes it but he doesn’t ask Malfoy where his wand is. “And don’t look at me like that, Potter, she didn’t want me to come with her.”

They walk side by side until they reach the door, and if Harry didn’t know better, he would think that Malfoy was waiting for him.

“I didn’t look at you in any particular way” he says, holding the door open for the blond.

“You did, you looked at me like I just kicked your puppy.”

“Do you kick puppies in your free time?”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I have dogs, Potter, I would be a bad dog owner if I kicked puppies.”

“You’d be a bad person, period. Wait, dogs? Plural? How many?”

He didn’t realise he stopped in his tracks until he has to walk faster to get back on Malfoy’s level. This time, it’s the Slytherin’s turn to hold the door to the meeting room open for Harry, and he takes a second to wonder where the simple civility between them came from. Parts of him believe it’s just the natural progression of their strange dynamic, but he still can’t wrap his head around their behaviour.

“Three, actually.”

“What do you do with three dogs?”

The blond rolls his eyes again, and Harry thinks he might hurt himself if he spends too much time in his company. “I don’t know, pet them?”

Something in the way he says it so blankly, like it’s so natural for him to show love to his dogs that he doesn’t understand how someone could question it, makes Harry’s heart ache a bit. He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. He realises that during all the years he spent wondering and thinking about Malfoy, he never once imagined he could have such a simple and normal life. With his two friends and his three dogs and his thousandth of cigarettes. He imagined him having a miserable and grim life, getting by just for the sake of not dying too soon. And it’s unfair, isn’t it, that Malfoy’s happy life is once again destroyed by tragedy. He doesn’t deserve to have his happiness taken away, not when he already lost his childhood. Because he was just a child during the War, just like Harry was; and his decisions were the results of cowardice, not the fruit of evil. Harry thinks it would be easier for him if Malfoy was actually evil, it would be easier if they were more different. He just doesn’t know why.

 

The only empty chairs left in the circle are next to one another, beside the one Oscar is sitting on. He smiles warmly at them. Harry thinks back on Lavender’s words, and while he’s not afraid she would know if he didn’t at least try to talk, he knows she’s right: he can’t give her lessons about self care if he doesn’t take the first step. _I’m doing this for her_ , he thinks, and he ignores Dumbledore’s voice telling him that he shouldn’t hide behind false pretences, and that’s it’s okay to need help. He decides to take the seat further from Oscar, leaving the one between him and the counsellor free for Malfoy, because he doesn’t want to add physical proximity to psychological one. It’s a sort of mental barrier, and a stupid one at that, but he wouldn’t need to be here if he wasn’t weak. They all wait in silence until Oscar finishes his start-of-session speech and asks who wants to start today.

Harry raises his hand, and he feels a bit foolish when every eyes land on him. Malfoy turns to look at him, too, and Harry feels like he’s the only other human being left on the planet. His mouth dries up, but he summons the last bit of his supposed Gryffindor courage.

Oscar nods. “Harry, that’s good. What made you want to open up, today?”

“Er, my friend, Lavender, actually.” He tries to ignore his surroundings and focus on Oscar, but he can still feel Malfoy’s eyes on him. “I tried to tell her that she deserves more than she allows herself to have and she told me that I can’t have the moral high ground if I don’t help myself, too, so.” He chuckles nervously. “I think she might be right.”

Oscar nods again, understanding. “It’s good that you want to support your friend through her struggles, Harry, but I also think she’s right. We’re here to help you navigate through all that, so don’t be afraid.”

“Thanks”, he exhales slowly. “I just don’t know where to begin, honestly. I’ve lost a lot of people, and sometimes I think my grieving is done, but then I feel guilty.”

“What do you feel guilty about, and why?”

“I feel like I’m betraying them if I keep moving on, like I’m forgetting about them and I don’t want to. I want to remember them even if it’s killing me, because that’s the only way I have to be close to them now.”

Oscar clears his throat and smiles gently. “It often happens, Harry. And I can’t pretend to know what those people would feel, but if they loved you as much as you seem to love them, I’m quite sure that they wouldn’t want you to suffer just to remember them. You don’t have to like the fact that they’re gone, but you can accept it and live with it. And when you do, you will remember them all the same. I assure you that you are strong enough to get through this. Okay?”

Harry nods but doesn’t trust his voice yet. He can feel his eyes filling up with tears and he tries to discretely wipe them off with his forearm. He knows it didn’t work when the old man next to him gives him a tissue, and he smiles gratefully.

“Can you tell us more about the people you lost, Harry? If you’re up for it, of course.”

Harry looks at Oscar again and takes a deep breath. He didn’t lie when he said he didn’t know where to start.

“Well… My parents died when I was still a baby. I don’t actually remembers them but it hurts as much as if I did. I saw one of my schoolmate die. My godfather, too. And my only real paternal figure, my mentor, also died in front of me.” Harry can feel Malfoy tense up next to him, but he pays him no mind. He doesn’t have the energy to care about what it must feel like for him to be reminded of Dumbledore. He has to keep going if he doesn’t want to give up now. “Then there’s also one of my first friends, my best friend’s brother who I considered family too, my parent’s best friend and his wife, and a lot of people I knew since I was 11, during an… accident at our school. And me.”

Oscar, who until now was attentively listening to Harry and watching him with growing pity, frowns for the first time. “You?”

“Yeah, I, er,” He clears his throat. “I died. Briefly.”

“You _what_?!” Harry thought Oscar would react, but it’s Malfoy’s voice that he hears. Harry turns to look at him.

“I died. Briefly.”

“You never mentioned it!” Malfoy seems more angry than anything.

“Well you never asked.”

“That’s not the point, Potter! I told you things I _never_ told _anyone_ and you didn’t tell me you actually fucking died!”

Harry can feel his cheeks reddening and his own anger growing. “Oh so now you’re willing to talk about it?”

Malfoy opens his mouth to answer but he’s interrupted by Oscar, who puts a hand on his arm to calm him down. “Draco, you know the rule. We don’t take our anger out on other people, here. We talk it through.”

It seems to deflate his anger almost instantly. He apologies to Oscar and before turning away from Harry again, he says: “This is not over, Potter.”

“Okay” is all Harry can say, because he’s suddenly aware of the fifteen or so people watching them with curiosity.

“Would you like to keep going, Harry?” Oscar asks.

Harry glares at the side of Malfoy’s face. “No, thank you. I think I’m done for today.”

 

Oscar nods sympathetically and keeps the session going. Harry tries to listen to the teenage girl talking after him, but all he can focus on is Malfoy’s leg going up and down, up and down, up and down, like his foot tapping on the floor is marking the rhythm of his anger. As soon as Oscar dismisses them, he grabs Harry by the elbow and drags him through the room’s door, down the corridor and through the entrance door where he finally releases his grip and instantly lights up a cigarette.

“I can’t believe you, Potter”, he says, his eyes throwing daggers. He blows his smoke directly in Harry’s face and doesn’t seem to care when he coughs.

“I’d rather not talk about it here.”

Malfoy closes his eyes, inhales deeply, exhales slowly. He opens his eyes again and they pierce burning holes in Harry’s face. “Fine. Let’s go.”

“Where?” Harry asks, but he stills follows him when Malfoy speed walks down the road.

“Have a drink.”

“What, just the two of us? Without Ellie?”

Malfoy stops walking and looks at Harry like he asked if two and two equals four. “Do you want to explain to her how a Dark Wizard threw you a killing curse to which you survived, _again_ , because apparently you can’t die? Oh, no, my bad, _you can’t fucking stay dead_!”

“Wait, are you mad that I came back?”

“What? Of course not you fucking moron, I’m mad you died in the first place!”

Malfoy doesn’t make any sense, but Harry doesn’t tell him. Instead, he follows him when Malfoy motions for him to do so. He pays for half of the too many bottles of beer Malfoy decides to buy at the brewery they stop by. He doesn’t ask any questions when Malfoy orders him to Side-Along him to Hampstead Heath, and he doesn’t protest when he drags him to the shore of one of the ponds. And he absolutely doesn’t say anything when he notices that Malfoy never let go of his arm.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to tell me what you think, even if it's to tell me it's lame :)  
> Also, I'm writing as it comes, so if you have suggestions/things you'd want to see, I'm all ears!

Harry lets Malfoy guide him to a secluded area, a little creak between two trees that gives him the sensation of being alone on Earth. They sit directly on the ground and drink their beers directly from the bottle, two things Harry never pictured the Pureblood doing. But he never pictured him having muggle friends and being somewhat nice to him, either, so he shouldn’t be surprised to see that the man before him has nothing in common with the boy he knew. After about ten minutes of doing nothing but looking at Malfoy peeling off the label on his bottle, Harry can’t take the silence anymore.

“So, three dogs.”

“We’re not talking about my dogs, Potter.”

“Well apparently we’re not talking about anything else, either.”

Malfoy casts him a sidelong glance and takes a sip of his beer. “Do you always need to fill the blanks with useless chatter?”

He shrugs. “No. But you’re the one who wanted to talk. _This isn’t over, Potter_ , remember?”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“Nobody’s forcing you to spend time with me.”

Malfoy seems to think this over.

“True”, he says. For a moment, Harry thinks he’s going to leave and he feels oddly disappointed. But he just grabs a cigarette and the lighter that used to be Hermione’s, leaving Harry to wonder if he isn’t single-handedly financing England’s tobacco industry. He smokes so much, it’s almost ridiculous.

“Tell me what happened. That night, in the forest.”

Harry takes a long sip of his beer. And another. And another, until he has to stop drinking and breathe if he doesn’t want to die now. Which, given his reaction earlier, might make Malfoy more angry than sad. “Voldemort accidentally put a piece of his soul in me when he tried to kill me, the first time. I knew he couldn’t be completely defeated if this part of him didn’t die first. So I let him kill me.”

Despite the warm weather, Harry shivers. Thinking about that night always makes him feel cold inside, like a Dementor’s roaming free in his heart. He hates talking about it, and yet, for some reason he can’t fathom, he’s willing to tell Malfoy everything he wants to know. It’s a bit like with Hermione, he muses: he doesn’t want to lie or hide anything. And if Harry could make sense of _that_ one day, he’d feel a little less lost.

“What the fuck”, Malfoy whispers. Then, louder: “Did you know you’d come back?”

Harry looks over to the other side of the pond, where a few birds are fighting over some food. “No.”

“You’re insane.”

“Obviously”. This time, it’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes.

“No, I mean, clinically insane. You just walked to your death like it was your chore of the day. Who the fuck does that?”

Harry turns to look at him. “What else was I supposed to do? He was going to destroy Hogwarts and kill as many people as possible just to get to me, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So what, it was just another selfless heroic act expected from the great Harry Potter? Fucking hell, it’s like billions of years of evolution didn’t catch in your DNA, you have absolutely no survival instinct.”

“Fuck’s sake, Malfoy, I literally _died_ to save all your arses, give me a break, would you?”

“Not all of our arses”, Malfoy mumbles. “Some of us would’ve been spared.”

Harry laughs mirthlessly. “Wow, what a humanitarian way of thinking. Besides, how much longer than everyone do you think you’d have been kept alive? Your father royally fucked up at the Department of Mysteries, you failed to kill Dumbledore, you refused to identify me at the Manor, and your mother lied straight to his face. Your whole family was useless at best, traitors at worst. And you lived with him, you know Voldemort wasn’t the type of bloke to keep something around just for old times’ sake.”

That has the merit to shut Malfoy up, for about two minutes at least.

“Okay, fine. What was the plan, if you died and stayed dead like a normal person?”

“Ron and Hermione would have finished the task.”

“What if they failed?”

“Well I guess we’ll never know, because I fucking came back, didn’t I?”, Harry can feel his anger growing like a tidal wave. “I could be with my mom and dad, Sirius, Remus, hell, even Cedric Diggory and Colin Creevey right now; but nooo, I had to make the fucking right choice because that’s what people expect from heroes even when they don’t want to be one. Dying wasn’t the traumatic part of it! They were here, just waiting for me, and I had to lose them all a second time.” Harry stood up in the middle of his tirade and is now looming over Malfoy, who looks at him with sadness and worry.

“Okay, okay, Potter, calm down. I’m sorry. Come on, sit back down.” And Harry doesn’t know if it’s because of his gentle voice or because Malfoy never apologised to him before, but he takes the proverbial hand Malfoy extends and sits back.

They lay back on the grass, closer than they need to be, watching the sky becoming orange, and pink, and dark blue over the canopy. Sometimes, Malfoy’s fingers brush the back of Harry’s hand. Sometimes, Harry’s fingers brush the back of Malfoy’s hand. When Harry speaks again, his voice sounds like he didn’t use it for hours, and he thinks that it might be the case.

“Why do you care so much that I died, anyway?”

He can feel Malfoy turning his head to look at him, but he keeps his gaze on the darkening sky. “I don’t know”, the blond sighs. “I’ve heard about you since I was a kid, you know. Harry Potter, the baby so powerful he destroyed Lord Voldemort. I wanted to be your friend to show my father I could have powerful allies, too. That’s a bit fucked up for an 11 years old, if you ask me”.

“Yeah well, what part of your life isn’t fucked up?”

“Hm, true. Anyway, then I met you, and I had the biggest epiphany of my life: you were a right little shite. You still are, by the way. But, whether you want it or not, you’re also a hero. And the fact that you didn’t want to be one, but still did everything you had to, makes you a much better person than half of the planet’s population. You’re braver and stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. And who wants to live in a world where someone like you can die? It’s terrifying.”

Harry turns his head towards Malfoy and is surprised by the warmth he finds in his eyes. It makes him lose all speaking and thinking abilities for a bit, so he just stares. The blond’s gaze never falters.

“I think you’ve put me on a pedestal”, he finally manages to croak out.

Malfoy smiles. “Maybe.”

Harry looks away. Malfoy does too, but he intertwines his pinky fingers with Harry’s. His heart misses a few beats but he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t know what is happening, but for the first time in years, he doesn’t care if he doesn’t have all the answers.

“I was so sure you were dead, when Hagrid carried you in his arms. It was like witnessing the death of Hope itself. I remember looking at your limp body and thinking _The last thing he did before dying was saving me, what a waste._ And then right after, _I’m going to feel guilty for the rest of my life, what a_ _fucking_ _piece of shite._ I was really furious that you had the gall to save me and die.”

“Has anyone ever told you that your mind works in a very strange way?”

“All the time.”

And Harry doesn’t really know what’s so funny, but he starts laughing harder than he did in a while. Malfoy follows and soon, tears are running down their faces and Harry’s cheeks are hurting. They manage to calm down and sit up after a bit, and Malfoy lets go of Harry’s hand to light up another cigarette. Harry tries to not show his disappointment at the loss of contact. He doesn’t think too much about why he’s disappointed.

 

“Do you have a cellphone, Potter?”

“Er, yes”

“Give it to me”, Malfoy commands, his hand extended.

“Don’t you have enough money to buy your own?”

Eye roll, again. “I have enough money to buy all the phones I want, Potter. Give me yours.”

“So bossy”, Harry complains. He still extracts his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and deposes it in the blond’s hand.

“Granger wants to know where you are” he says after taking a look at it.

“Don’t read my messages! What’s wrong with you?”

But Malfoy ignores him and composes a number. He waits a bit, nods satisfyingly, and tosses the phone back to Harry.

“There.”

“Who did you call?”

“Me. Now I have your number, and you have mine.”

“Couldn’t you just ask for my number like a normal person?”

“Since when do we do things the normal way?” Malfoy asks, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t lying, though. Granger texted you five times. The last two are just lines of interrogation points.”

“I should probably go home, then.”

Malfoy makes a weird grimace. “Are you and Granger…?”

“What? Ew, no! She’s like my sister, you’re gross. We’re roommates.”

“What about Weasley?”

“Ron? They broke up a few years ago.”

“Not _him._ Ginevra, I believe her name is.”

Harry shrugs. “We’re friends.”

“Huh,” Malfoy says. “You really don’t have the life I thought you had.”

“Did you think about me often, then?”

Malfoy only smiles enigmatically. “Go home.”

“Fine”, he sighs. “Keep your secrets. Do you want me to Side-Along you?”

The blond shakes his head. “No, thanks. I’m going to stay here a bit longer. See you later, Potter.”

Harry wants to say something else, but whatever moment they shared, it’s over. Malfoy turns his head towards the other side of the pond, apparently not caring if Harry is still here or not. He says “Goodnight” anyway but the other man doesn’t answer, so Harry Disapparates, unable to keep his mouth from lifting at the corners.

 

**

Hermione must have heard the “plop” of his Apparition, because Harry barely has time to open the door to the flat before being jumped on.

“Harry! It’s almost midnight, where were you all day?”

“Yeah, Harry, you’re only almost 25, where were you?” Ginny says from somewhere behind Hermione’s bushy hair. Harry can hear the laughter in her voice. Hermione never stopped worrying about them, like an obsessively protective mother.

Harry manages to escape Hermione’s embrace and takes a good look at his friends. Lavender and Ginny are sitting on the couch in their pyjamas, bags of crisps and candy littering the table in front of them.

“Oh crap, did I forgot movie night?”

Hermione frowns severely. “Yes, you did. You better have a good excuse, because you _never_ forget movie night. It was your turn to choose, we’ve just been watching crappy reality TV while waiting.”

He grimaces. “Sorry.”

Hermione sighs but he can see her trying to hide a smile. “Go put your pjs on. There’s still time to watch something before I fall asleep.”

“Yes, grandma!” Harry runs to his room before Hermione can slap the back of his head like he knows she wants to.

 

Thirty minutes into the movie, an old western Hermione’s parents introduced them to, Harry’s phone chimes. For a reason he doesn’t want to dwell on, his heart rate speeds up and he almost throws himself into the table trying to get to the phone. He realizes he wasn’t subtle at all when Hermione mutes the movie and all three girls are watching him with curiousity.

“Who’s texting you in the middle of the night?” Lavender asks, a suspicious gleam in her eyes.

“A friend”, he says, not taking his eyes off the phone, where a number he doesn’t know appears. He doesn’t have to open the message to know that it comes from Malfoy.

“Which friend? All your friends are here”

“Well thanks Gin, that cheers me right up!”, he answers, trying to hide the phone from the redhead looking over his shoulder. He manages to shield the screen with a pillow.

 

_Did Granger kill you yet?_

 

He tries really hard not to smile, because really, there’s nothing to smile about. He looks up to the girls still looking at him, having apparently decided that Harry having a friend that is not them is more important than the movie. “What?”

“Nothing”, Hermione says in a tone that makes it clear that it’s not nothing.

“It’s just strange that you spent the day out of the flat for the first time in months, and the same night, you get a text at an ungodly hour”, Lavender chimes in, a wide smile breaking her face.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Half past midnight is hardly an ungodly hour.”

 

He quickly composes his answer.

**Sorry, she spared me. Did you get home okay?**

It doesn’t take Malfoy more than 30 seconds to text back.

_Seeing as I’m not a toddler, I managed just fine._

**Dickhead.**

 

“Oh my god, look at his dumb smile!” Ginny exclaims, laughing and spitting crisps crumbs everywhere. “It’s not just a friend, he never smiles like that when it’s us.”

“Maybe it’s just a… special friend”, Hermione says, look at him over the rim of her tea mug. Harry meets her eyes and he knows that she knows. After all, he rarely leaves the flat regularly except on Wednesdays for the group meeting, and she knows that Malfoy attends too, and Harry is quite remarkably fascinated by Malfoy; and this riddle is really too easy to solve. Sometimes he wishes Hermione could be a bit more oblivious.

His phone chimes again.

And again.

And again.

Harry finally stops silently pleading Hermione not to tell anything and ignores Ginny’s “Wow, someone’s eager to talk to our Harry”. He opens his phone again.

 

_;)_

_Thanks for today._

_Goodnight, Potter xx_

 

And this time, he doesn’t even try to pretend that he doesn’t have a dumb smile.


	7. Seven

On Thursday morning, Harry wakes up to a new text from Malfoy. Inside, following the words _We can talk about them now_ , is a blurry picture of two and a half dogs playing in the grass. One of them is a giant, scary looking, brown dog with a black muzzle, and the other one a light beige one with the same black muzzle, but a bit smaller and a lot friendlier looking. After five minutes of staring and a bit of squinting, he realizes that what he thought was half a dog is actually a tiny, fat dachshund. He can’t help the burst of laughter escaping him. He’s not ashamed to admit that he imagined Malfoy having really posh dogs, something like a Persian Greyhound or one of those Chihuahuas the wealthy young ladies always carry in their handbag. The possibility of Malfoy owning an obese sausage dog never crossed his mind, and he finds it hilariously endearing.

 

**W** **hat do you feed the little one?!**

 

He tosses his phone on the side of his bed after watching the time. 7:28am. He grunts and stretches. It’s way too early for him, but he figures that if he’s already awake, he might as well join Hermione for breakfast before she leaves for work. He usually doesn’t, because watching Hermione getting ready for her Assistant Teacher position at the local University is a bitter reminder that he doesn’t have a job. The money he got from the Potter’s and Black’s vaults, as well as from selling Grimmauld Place and having shares in George’s stores, is enough to last him a lifetime. And he never found something he might want to do enough to leave the security of his flat and his uneventful life. But it’s still hard to watch all his friends living normal lives and to stay on the side of the road, the only jobless depressed mess of them all. He realizes that he didn’t ask if Malfoy has a job and wonders what kind of career the walking contradiction that the ex-Slytherin became might have. His musings are interrupted by Malfoy replying.

 

_Are you fat-shaming my dog, you tosser? How unbecoming of a national hero._

 

Harry is still giggling when he enters the kitchen, where Lavender and Hermione are already halfway through their breakfast. Hermione stops buttering her toast when he comes in, and Lavender doesn’t stop filling her mug in time, too busy gaping at him. Coffee spills on the table but none of them seem to notice. Harry grabs a sponge to clean up the mess and arches his eyebrows.

 

“What? I’ve been known to get up in the morning before, you know.”

“Well”, Hermione gives a pointed look to the clock on the wall. “Rarely this early.”

“And never smiling before 11 am”, Lavender helpfully adds.

Harry shrugs and goes to grab a mug in the cupboard. When he sits at the table, his friends are still looking at him, albeit a bit more discreetly.

“So”, he says around a mouthful of toast. “Lav, I think it’s fair to say that you’re the expert on relationships, here.”

The brunette exchanges a glance with Hermione and they both turn back to stare at him. “I guess”, she answers slowly.

“So, er, how intimate is pinky holding, do you think?”

Hermione chokes on her tea, tears starting to fill her eyes. She coughs and dabs her napkin at the corner of her eyes. “Sorry, sorry”, she clears her throat. “I just.. That’s not what I expected.”

“And it’s a bit funny”, Lavender chuckles. “So that’s what you did all day yesterday, you… pinky held?” This time she loses control and openly guffaws. Hermione tries to hide her own laughter behind her hand.

“Well, not _all day long_. Oh come on!” he adds when the girls laugh even harder. He tears a piece of his toast and hits Lavender in the forehead, but he himself has trouble staying serious. “I don’t know what’s happening! Obviously I’m aware it’s a lot less intimate than kissing or fucking, but it’s not something you do with strangers and friends, is it?”

“No, Harry, it’s not”, Lavender throws the piece of toast back. “Who is it?”

“And er, is it something straight men do with other straight men?” He ignores her question, because he’s not sure how to feel about the answer.

“Oh boy”, Hermione exclaims. She turns to Lavender. “I think we’re about to have The Talk with our kid.”

“What? No! I know what sex is, Mione.”

“Then you should also know that sexuality can be fluid.”

“Yeah, but mine isn’t.”

 

And it really isn’t. When Luna was still attached to his hip, she dragged him a few times to different gay bars and clubs. He always had fun, but he also always looked at the girls there. He has no problem recognising when another man is objectively attractive, but he has never been _attracted_ to one. He kissed one, because he told Harry he wanted to and Harry wanted to at least try, but he didn’t feel anything except awkwardness. He never had trouble breathing and thinking when they look at him, like he does with beautiful women sometimes. Or with Malfoy. He never wanted to listen to them talking for hours, or just share their personal space, or be physically close to them, like he used to do with Ginny and kind of does with Malfoy, now. And he certainly never had butterfly and shivers all over his body like he did when Malfoy _just touched his hand_.

 

“Well, you know”, Hermione shrugs. “You don’t have to put a label on who you are. It’s perfectly okay to feel something for only one person of a gender. You don’t have to like men to love _one_ man. Even if you have… history, with said man.”

“Hermione, do you know who is it?” Lavender asks, suspicious.

“I don’t love him”, Harry says.

“Well probably not this early in whatever is it the two of you have. But I wouldn’t mind if you did, one day.” Hermione says, putting her mug in the sink and grabbing her coat and satchel. Harry gapes.

“Who is it??” Lavender stares at both of them in turn. Harry can see the wheels turning in her head, and he knows it won’t take much more time until she figures it out. He makes a mental note to chose friends that aren’t this smart, in his next life.

Hermione winks at Harry and blows a kiss to Lavender. “You’re going to be late for work.”

“Fuck!”, she jumps from her chair and races to the living room. She comes back not a minute later, trying to put on her Healer robes and shoes at the same time. With two fingers, she points to her own eyes and then to Harry, and back again. “I’m getting to the bottom of this, Harry.” And then she Disapparates straight from the kitchen.

Hermione sighs and pats Harry’s shoulder on her way out. “You should probably tell Ron you’re seeing Malfoy. Before it becomes something other than friendship.”

Harry calls out: “How do you know it will?”

Just before she leaves, she calls back: “Pinky holding, Harry, pinky holding.”

 

Harry uses a few spell Molly taught him to clean up the kitchen and decides to go back to bed, because an empty flat at 8am isn’t something he’s used to, and he doesn’t like it. He knows he could lose himself in the emptiness and silence, lose himself in the maze of all the bad memories refusing to let him move on with his life. He sighs. Now that the girls are gone, he realizes that for the first time in a while, he really doesn’t want to be alone. He could call Ron, but Ron is busy with the Aurors. Ginny is probably training for her next Quidditch match, and he really doesn’t want to face Molly’s pitying looks if he goes to the Burrow alone. The only other person he could see is Malfoy, but he’s not ready to look this desperate. So he goes back to bed, wondering if one day he’ll be able to be a functioning adult or if he’s going to be the shadow of the boy he used to be until the day he dies.

 

**

Harry wakes up on Friday, instantly knowing that it’s going to be one of _those_ days. The ones when his mind and body conspire to make him feel like shit, no matter what he does. The ones when he doesn’t want to talk, see, hear, listen, eat, shower, or even wank. The ones when he doesn’t exactly want to die, but he’s not a big fan of being alive either. Dumbledore’s voice keeps saying _fucked up fucked up fuckedupfuckedupfuckedup_ and _waste of space._ Harry can’t even cover his ears to make it go away, because it’s not even real. Dumbledore’s voice says _Of course it’s happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?_ Harry, frustrated and feeling empty, screams and cries in his pillow.

Hermione, who must have developed a sixth sense when it comes to Harry after spending fourteen years at his side, knocks on his door. He doesn’t answer but she pokes her head inside anyway.

 

“Hey, Harry”, she says softly.

“I don’t want to talk”

“I know. It’s just, you left your phone in the kitchen, and it’s ringing.”

“I don’t care”

“It’s just.. It could be Mal-”

“Please”, Harry interrupts. “Leave me alone.”

Hermione sighs. “Okay, Harry. I love you.”

 

Harry loves her too, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t say anything to anyone until a few hours later, when someone knocks on his door again and the door opens before he can tell Hermione or Lavender to go away.

“I still don’t want to talk.”

“Fine by me”, the intruder says and it’s definitely not one of his friends. Harry knows he should have some sort of strong reaction at Malfoy being in his bedroom, but he just doesn’t have the energy. He lays still in his bed, his back to the door.

“What are you doing here?”

He can feel Malfoy sitting at the foot of his bed, and he moves closer to the wall, still not turning to look at him.

“I tried to call you. Granger answered, she said you weren’t feeling well, and here I am.”

“Why?”

“It’s my birthday tomorrow. I wanted to know if you’d like to come and call my dog fat in her face.”

“I meant, why did you come?”

Malfoy doesn’t answer for a few seconds. Finally, he asks: “Can I lay down?”

Harry hesitates, then nods before realizing that maybe Malfoy isn’t looking at him. “Yeah”, he croaks out.

 

He feels more than he hears Malfoy laying down next to him. He irradiates heat like he’s made of lava, and Harry resists the urge to come closer to him, to steal all of his warmth to fight off the coldness he feels inside.

 

“You helped me, once or twice. I wanted to pay it back.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy.”

“Not to be contrarian just for the sake of it, but that’s not for you to decide.”

Harry sighs and closes his eyes. “Okay. I’m still not talking, though.”

“Can I talk?”

“Suit yourself.”

 

Malfoy settles more comfortably on the bed and clears his throat like he’s about to give a speech. Harry wonders what his teenage self would have thought about Malfoy’s behaviour, and if maybe they could have been friends if their lives weren’t destined to go down opposite paths.

 

“I never stopped asking myself why you took care of me, after Azkaban. I still don’t fully know why I followed you, you know. I guess you were just the first friendly face I saw after ten months of pure horror. I thought maybe it was a trap, that you were taking me some place where I’d be beaten up by all the people I wronged. I didn’t really care, I was dead inside anyway.”

Malfoy snorts joylessly. “I also thought that it was just your self righteous arse showing me that you were a better person than me, because if our roles had been reversed, I would’ve walked right past you. But now I think that you just don’t make any sense, Harry Potter. You have a really weird moral compass, you know? You have strong convictions to the point of being obnoxiously obtuse about them, and if you care about a cause, nothing can deviate you from it. But there’s just no logic as to what you care about, or how you prioritize those things.”

 

Malfoy shifts on the bed and Harry can feel his gaze on the back of his head. He has a bit more difficulties breathing evenly, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s not sure he can face Malfoy without starting to cry, and he doesn’t know why.

 

“I’m not an idiot, Potter. I know you’ve always had your eyes on me from the first day of school to that night on the Astronomy Tower. I know you’ve always had this unhealthy obsession with me and what I was doing, and it escalated to the point where you almost killed me. And it’s okay, because I did, too. My friends used to joke that I had a crush on you, and that I was always an arsehole to you because all I wanted was your attention. And sure, that would be the pretty and acceptable explanation. But you and I, we both know that there was nothing pretty or acceptable about it. It was just an ugly and sick fixation, rotten to the core. I think that we put so much energy and soul into hating each other that it became part of our equilibrium; and maybe that’s why I didn’t rat you out at the Manor, why you turned around in a fucking fire to save me. Our worlds were turned upside down because of the War, and I think that if we lost that vile connection we had to each other, we would have lost our balance altogether.”

 

Harry opens his eyes and finally turns to look at Malfoy, their faces only separated by an arm-length. “What’s your point?” he whispers.

“My point” he says, smiling faintly. “Is that somewhere in the middle of trying to murder each other and actually saving each other, I made my way to the other side of that wicked moral compass of yours. You used to care about me because you hated me, and then you cared about me because even if you couldn’t hate me anymore, you couldn’t be indifferent. That’s why you took me home that day, that’s why I followed you, that’s why I had to talk to you when I saw you at the meeting that first day, and that’s why I’m here, now. We just can’t walk away from each other, Potter.”

Harry snorts nervously. “That sounds awfully romantic.”

Malfoy’s smile broaden. “Yeah well, Slytherins have a way with words.”

 

They look at each other, eyes locked together. Harry knows that whatever thing they have between us, this is not normal or totally healthy. He knows that this is going somewhere, he just doesn’t know where. And he doesn’t care. He just wants to go on the journey, not matter what the destination is.

 

“But you did, though. You walked away.” Harry can’t help the reproach seeping into his voice.

“Yeah”, Malfoy sighs. “I know I won’t do it again, though. Too much trouble for too little benefits, trust me.”

 

And Harry does, he realizes.

“Do you think we could have been friends as kids, if things were different?”, he asks.

“Maybe. But I think we needed to hate the other to the point of wanting him dead to get to this particular level of non-hating.”

“Does that mean you like me a lot, now?”

Malfoy smiles and Harry’s heart skips a bit. “I like you a very normal amount.”

“I thought we didn’t do things the normal way?”

“Touché”. They both chuckles, their smiles never faltering. Harry feels a little warmer inside.

“Can you stay with me a bit longer? Even if we don’t talk?”

Malfoy takes Harry’s hand in his and gently kisses his knuckle. “I’m not going anywhere, Harry.”

 

And when he closes his eyes and falls asleep, it’s with the certitude that Malfoy doesn’t lie, this time.

 


End file.
